Spring break started out awesome. Knowing that we would be at wrestling practice every night this week, I even thought I would make a big batch of chicken for tacos and quesadillas during the week.

4 organic chicken breasts? Check.
1 cup of fresh roasted green chilies? Check.
1 cup of fresh salsa? Check.

All I had to do was carry the full crockpot over to the island where I left the chopped onions, add them in, and turn the crockpot on. Carrying the onions to the crockpot might be messy, and since I was running late that morning, I wasn’t looking for messy.

I took the ceramic inside out of the metal heating part of the crockpot and added my onions. As I lifted the bowl to put it into the heating unit, it started to slip. I put my left hand under the bowl to steady it and as I did, it shattered into my hand.

Yup. Into.

I sliced my pinky and my ring finger, but the gash on my pinky was pretty deep. Like, I could see inside my finger deep. *gag*

Me: Michael, come. here. now. please. I need help.

Michael: What?! What’s wrong with your hand?

Me: I cut it. Just help me get the food off of the floor. There is raw chicken all over.

Michael: Can I see it?

Me: See what?!

Michael: Your hand. Can I see it?

Me: Michael {as I’m cleaning the floor and counter with one hand}, you can see whatever you want after you help me.

Michael: Are you not showing me because it’s… bad?

Jack: What happened? Mom?! {in his so sad panicked Jack voice}

Me: I’m ok, but can you take my slippers into the tub and rinse them off?

Jack: Is that blood?!?

Me: No, it’s salsa. I dropped the crock lot and salsa fell onto my slippers.

Jack: Are you sure?

Michael: Mom, can I see it now? Is it really deep?

Jack: Mom… Is it bad?!

This is how it went until I finally convinced Jack that the salsa wasn’t blood and showed Michael the inside flesh of my finger.

Did I mention that I was also watching the three little girls across the street, ages 3, 5, and 6?

I decided quickly that I didn’t have time for stitches and called a friend over to help me play nurse to myself. Thankful for the medical glue that my SIL gave us, we glued my fingers back together.

All was well. Except I just wasted $20 worth of food and a lot of my time.

Four hours later the glue decided to quit working.

Steve brought home butterfly bandages and we re-wrapped my fingers.

The next morning, the big cut had opened again. I re-wrapped, but it didn’t help. Every time I moved my hand, my fingers split open again.

Do you know how much you move your pinky on a daily basis?!

Thankfully, Kelly brought me some steri-strips. They are like a very strong piece of tape that you use as a bandage.

Also? She brought me a splint so that I would stop moving my fingers and opening the cut back up.

If it weren’t for my friends, I tell ya’.

Now? I look like a bit of an idiot.

It’s overkill, right? But it works.

This was my first freak accident. I can’t even explain exactly how it happened. Dinner, a crockpot, a cut, a splint. Crazy.

Someone make me feel better. I want to know about your freak accidents…

Go.

Tonight at wrestling practice, Michael wrestled his heart out for 2 hours. He. did. awesome.

He’s out of that “play wrestling” phase and is now using these awesome techniques to actually… wrestle.

So, he wrestled for 2 hours, then as the 40 boys went to roll up the huge mats, Michael got hurt.

It wasn’t a camera kind of moment, so I did my best to make you a picture:

Michael was pushing the mat so hard that when it stopped rolling, he rolled over it and fell straight on his head.

On the concrete floor.

I can make pictures and joke about it now because I was so terrified when it happened.

One of his awesome (did I say awesome? because I love those guys) coaches helped me break into the kitchen and put some ice in a plastic glove for Michael to hold on his head. Because on his head? There was a bump the size of a tangerine.

When we got home, Michael was feeling a little better but I wanted the ice on his head for a little longer. I told him he could go play video games for 25 minutes (no homework tonight!) as long as the ice stayed on his head.

Jack: I have an idea. We could get a collar and tie it around his head so the ice stays on. We could wrap it around his head, then the ice wouldn’t fall off.

Michael: Jack, No! You can’t do that! I’ll just rest it between my head and my chair.

Michael is SO boring.

I have a confession to make.

I don’t like to run.

I said I did, because I was trying to live by the “fake it till you make it” mantra.

So, I thought positive thoughts.

I got up in the morning and ran with my friend, Tracie.

And I loved it.

Well, the part where I got one whole uninterrupted hour with Tracie. I loved that part.

But the pushing myself to take every step? The part where my teeth actually throbbed and my head pounded? The part where I had blisters on my feet where my arches were supposed to be? When I went to bed at night and my feet throbbed?

I didn’t like those parts.

But I talked myself into it.

“It’s good for your heart.”

“You’ll lose weight.”

“You’re a runner!”

I talked myself into it for 2 years.

2 years of 5k’s.

At least 10 of them.

5k’s with old friends,

5k’s with new friends,

and 5k’s with my boys.

I tried.

But I just don’t like it.

And I know that I’m not the only person who feels this way.

I love kickboxing.

I went for a great bike ride this morning.

Tomorrow, you can find me up at 5a.m. power walking with friends.

And I love doing videos like Turbo Jam and The Shred.

But running? Notsomuch.

So, I made a deal with myself.

One more 5k, then I’m allowed to cry “Uncle.”

Thoughts? What are your favorite ways to get in shape?

Come find me at Aspiring Mama’s place today for Story Time Saturdays (yes, a little bit late…).

Every Saturday, she features a blogger reading to their little one, and Jack and I chose to read Big Sharks.

(Pauline’s always looking for new people to feature… record yourself, upload it to YouTube, and send her the link!)

Michael is currently too cool for the camera, so he played videographer.

At about 3:10 into the video, Jack has an America’s Funniest Home Video moment… Steve thinks I should send it in…

What do you think?

(P.S. I am multi-tasking and counting this as 40 of 52 of Where’s Mom?)

I’m dying to share some pictures of what I have been doing for the last 2 weeks!

Most of these are cell phone pictures, so bare with me…

Steve is visibly absent in these pictures because he has been spending a lot of time behind the closed door on the right.

Not to be mistaken for the open one on the left. That’s the bathroom.

He has officially started his Master’s program and is there every night and weekend. It’s just like he’s traveling for work, but he’s not. I guess it’s better to be behind the door because I can still scream and ask him to come kill bugs for me :)

I have been watching Jack make new friends and spend time with “old” ones… (I love the thumbs in the pockets look).

I have been spending a lot of time in my new classroom planning for the amazing kids that I have this year…

Michael has been coming to have lunch and play games with me on the days that I work.

We spent last weekend watching a friend take the Lindy’s Challenge…

and drooling over the mac and cheese burger (though I didn’t try it):

We waited (very patiently) for the monsoons to roll in… and they finally did!

We have spent a lot of time talking about how to deal with Jack’s hoarding…

This picture was taken today while we were rearranging his room.

I went to move his dresser and he said, “Well, Mom… there is some stuff under there… “

I don’t think I shared it with you, but about a month ago, we found this stash under Jack’s train table:

The funny thing is, these are items I had asked Jack to throw away at one time or another.

Anyone have any ideas about how to nip this in the bud? Because apparently, whatever I’m doing is not working.

Anyway… where was I?

Michael fell off of his scooter and banged up his hip and arm pretty good…

We had a few chances to see real Arizona cowboys in action:

Oh, and we tried to rescue a lizard from our pool, though it didn’t work :(

Tell me… what have you been doing lately?

As many of you know, Michael started wrestling about a month ago.

Please excuse my Blackberry photos

He loves it.

Really loves it.

He loves that it’s an individual sport. He doesn’t feel like he lets his teammates down because he’s still learning.

He loves that it’s a team sport. That while he’s wrestling someone, they’re giving him tips about how to be better.

And do you know what happens when one brother loves something?

The other brother usually wants in on it.

And… there goes Mom’s sanity.

Well, not really.

Mom’s sanity was intact until this morning.

When I saw this:

Itchy red rash, in the shape of a ring.

Any guesses?

My guess was ringworm.

And do you know what I did?

First, I told Michael he was not to tell anyone that we thought he had ringworm.

Because a lot of people think that ringworm is something you get when you are dirty.

And we. are. not. dirty. people. (Just ask Darcie).

Then do you know what I did?

I stuck a band aid on it and sent him to school.

When the doctor’s office opened up, I called and made him an appointment.

I was told that ringworm is “very, very common in wrestlers.”

This is me, wondering why none of you thought to share this with me.

Because I am sure that at least one of you knew.

At 9:00, I went to school and signed him out.

While Jack and I were waiting for Michael to come to the office, I saw an old friend.

Not old like, old, but a friend that has been a friend for a while.

I told him (quietly) about why I was taking Michael to the doctor.

Then Michael came to meet us and I said goodbye to my friend.

He said something to the effect of, “Good luck at the doctor…” or something like that.

And then Jack…

…Oh Jack.

As we were walking out the door, Jack turned around and yelled, “Yeah, Michael is going to the doctor because he has RINGWORM!”

And I giggled all the way out to the car.

And from what I hear, the office staff  thought it was pretty funny too.

And poor Michael turned so red that I actually think he was purple.

And she confirmed what I thought.

Ringworm.

Though, it was hard for her to do so because of the welts on Michael’s arm.

Welts from the band aid that his Mom made him put on.

Because, apparently Michael has a severe sensitivity to waterproof band aids.

I knew that he was sensitive to regular band aids.

But 90 minutes with a waterproof band aid obviously equals weeks with a regular band aid.

Because as I write this, Michael is lying in bed dealing with itchy ringworm and a painful welt.

Can you say “Mother of the Year?”

Please excuse my late post this week.

To make up for it, I’ll tell you a story about my afternoon.

I came home to Michael, who has now caught the stomach bug that I have had since Tuesday.

Then I went outside with Jack, who wanted to practice his bike riding skills.

While outside with some of the neighbors and their kids, we watched this girl zoom (yes, zoom) by in her car. I went to the end of the driveway to give her the universal “SLOW DOWN” sign, and she shook. her. head. at. me.

*this is me. fuming.*

As that girl left my neighborhood, do you know what she did?

She stepped on the gas and gunned it as she neared my house, then sped by the 4 children ages 1-5 in the driveway.

Oh yes she did.

So, we walked down to talk to the people that she was visiting.

On the way back from that, my neighbor tripped on an uneven sidewalk and fell.

She banged her arm up pretty good.

And dropped. her. baby.

Everyone is ok.

Well, us Moms are a bit frazzled.

But the baby is fine.

Cute as ever.

We got home, I fed the kids, and told Jack to get in the bath.

In pure Jack fashion, he fell and hit his head on the toilet.

Resulting in a marble-sized bump on the back of his head.

The bump is the size of the big marble in the game. Not the small ones.

As I texted all of this to my SIL to apologize for not calling her back, I thought, “this is a blog post if there ever were one.”

So anyway.

Am I forgiven for being late to the picture party?

—–

This week, Mom could be spotted at a picnic.

With a handsome boy.

On a towel (he was very specific about the towel).

In the garage.

Yes. You’re looking at my garage floor.

My husband is screaming right now because no one is supposed to see his garage in such a state.

{Sorry, Steve}

But it was fun.

Picnicking in the garage.

Eating peanut butter and jelly.

With my soon to be kindergartener.

We had our first wresting injury last night.

We meaning Michael.

Nothing serious, but seeing as this was only his 4th wrestling practice, it was a little stressful.

For me.

Michael came home complaining of a headache because (and I quote)

we were practicing pins and flips and my neck got twisted .

Mom: So… let me get this straight… someone pinned you, then flipped you?

Yup. It hurt a little. But now it hurts a lot.

Hello?

DID YOU HEAR THAT??

SOMEONE PINNED MY SON, THEN FLIPPED HIM OVER!!!

Yesterday, a friend (whose 4 sons have all wrestled) looked at me and said, “I’m so happy Michael likes wrestling.But I. know. you. {big smile} I know you and you’re not going to like watching Michael compete. So prepare yourself now. It’s hard.”

Yeah. That didn’t prepare me for the mental image of him being pinned and flipped over in practice. I haven’t even thought about competitions yet.

He still wants to go, though.

He still loves it.

You know that we’re talking about Michael, right?

The sweet, shy boy.

Not Jack.

The outgoing, crazy boy.

Michael is the one who saves all of his notes that Dad leaves him when he travels.

The one who makes us proud by putting his all into everything he does… doesn’t seem like such a good trait now, does it?

Michael is the one who gets straight A’s on his report card and wants to spend the day with his Mom as a reward.

The Mama’s boy!

That Michael.

That Michael fell in love with a sport where he gets pinned.

And flipped.

Is it too late to trade for girls?

Though I had some reservations about letting him go, Jack went on a field trip today with his preschool.

He went to an ostrich ranch.

Yes, those do exist.

Ask Kellie.  She has been there.

This is how he came back to me this afternoon:

And this is his story:

Mom, something very dangerous happened to me today.

What?

I was petting an ostrich and it bit me. Hard.

WHAT? WHERE?

Right here.

It was bleeding all the way down my arm.

Really? All the way down?

Yup. It was dripping off of my – what’s this called? Oh yeah, my elbow. But I didn’t need a band aid.

What’s all over your shirt?

(Looks down) Oh, that’s strawberries. They were juicy.

Wow. It looks like blood.

(Big smile) Yeah, it does.

When we first got to the farm, the man showed us how to pet the ostriches. He said “Do you want to know how to pet an ostrich? Hold its neck, and pet the side of it’s head.”

Oh wow. Really? (Because that obviously didn’t work so well for you.)

{Let’s ignore the waffles that we had for dinner, ok?}

Then he said “Do you want to know how to kiss an ostrich?” and then HE KISSED IT!! EWWWWW!!

And then we petted these parrots. And they didn’t bite us.

Then we petted the ostriches. And the one ostrich, he looked at me like this:

And I gave him some food, then he bit me like this:

and that’s when I started bleeding all over.

But not really all over, right?

Yeah. Then I got to ride a goat. And I fed the goat after I rode it. Like this.

The we went to Mt. Lemmon and we saw a cave, and there was a bear in the cave.

Jack, Mt. Lemmon is on the other side of town from where you were.

But I was there, Mom.

Ok, dear.

Then our teachers gave us b.b. guns and we shot at the bears. And they ran away…

Jack, I think you’re lying a little bit.

Yup, I am.

Ok. Can you tell me the truth about your field trip?

Well, what if I grabbed the ostriches neck after he bit me? Like this:

Wow. I’m glad you didn’t do that.

Yeah.

I had so much fun on my field trip.

I want to go again tomorrow.

Note: If feet gross you out, you might want to skip reading this post. If you’re intrigued about what would prompt someone to write a letter to their feet, read on, my friends…

Dear Feet,

I understand that at times, I have seemed ungrateful for your presence in my life.

I am taking this chance to apologize.

It must be a thankless job, you know… being feet. You get walked on, stepped on, and stubbed. I get it. It sucks being you.

But we need to come to an agreement.

During the last few years, I have moved you to Tucson, land of the flip flops. Don’t flip flops make feet happy?

I don’t make you wear those horrible close-toed shoes in the winter (I thought you would have appreciated that).

I have even been getting you twice monthly pedicures during our summers here. Do you think I like sitting in those big massage chairs having my feet rubbed? It’s all for you, believe me.

Eight months ago (yes, can you believe it? You have been pouting for eight months), you broke.

I didn’t do anything to you.

Well, I didn’t think I did.

I joined a soccer team.

And I loved that soccer team.

Apparently, you didn’t.

Because, as I said before, you broke.

You couldn’t handle the stress of the soccer cleat.

Let’s be honest here. You’re not perfect.

You’re flat.

And though I am not usually one to tease, my husband says that you are ugly.

I always stood up for you though.

As soon as you got mad and broke, I babied you.

I stopped playing soccer. And if we’re being honest with each other, that made me pretty mad.

I also had to stop running. Well, I wouldn’t call it running as much as I would call it jogging. And panting. But that’s here nor there.

And do you know what else I had to stop?

Kickboxing. That really sucked. Because it was fun. And I could punch things.

I’m not going to mention those 4 weeks where I had to, for all intents and purposes, stop walking. I just won’t even go there.

I know you were mad when I let the doctor give you that cortisone shot. I did what I thought was best. That shot? The one in my toe joint? Yeah, I felt that one, too.

And then the boot. Ugh. The boot.

I know you hated that as much as I did.

And the orthopedic inserts. They’re trying to help you. Just give them a chance. Do you know much they cost? If you did, I bet you would stop aching when I wear them.

But that was all 8 months ago. Can we just get over it and announce a truce?

Because this is getting to be a bit dramatic.

Today, eight months later, we went to see a physical therapist.

Apparently, she thought you were very interesting.

Apparently, someone here hasn’t been telling the whole truth.

And it’s not me.

You’re not just flat.

Your achilles tendon is too tight.

And your range of motion is god-awful.

And look at what they’re making me wear now! How am I even going to wear cute shoes with this tape all over my feet?!

Now that we have everything all laid out, can we just get on with it?

I’m not even 32 yet and I have orthopedic inserts, for crying out loud!

And this? This is unacceptable. Look what you passed on.

So how about you call your little guys (you know, your genes) and tell them that we are way ahead of the game here. We saw what you did to me and aren’t taking any chances with the little guy.

Yup, Jack now has his own baby orthopedic inserts.

I’m done being nice.

Stop pouting and be thankful that you belong to someone who treats you good.

Because eight months is long enough.

And spring soccer season is just around the corner.

Sincerely,

Becca